Part of my new tough love regime is 'Morning Pages'. Thought I'd share todays.
It’s ten to six. Obviously in telling you I am going for full sympathy or admiration.
I’ll take either if you fall for it. Truth is I woke up, it seemed light through the chinks in the blind, and the crazy skylight we installed in a retarded moment (it was dark in there that day. Truly.) so I got up because I knew I had to go into work early and it was surely minutes away from the alarm going off.
It wasn’t. It was 5am. Ugh.
So I slap myself in the forehead mentally with a mallet and put the kettle on. Nothing but drinking coffee can make these moments work out okay. And so here I am doing morning pages before even the first zingy young kookaburra can clear its throat.
What to write about? Oh I don’t know. What is there beyond moaning? I have to go to work, blah, blah (I volunteered), I have to go early (I always say I am a morning person), it’s cold (I tell people I hate the heat), I’m tired (because I had a big party), I feel a bit off on the tummy (because I have been eating too much crap), my skin doesn’t look good (see last note), it’s that time of the month (been happening this way for the last 25 years, were you expecting something different this time?) and the pets need feeding (you went out of your way to convince husband you needed them, searched extensively for them, paid big cash for them and have had them for years where they gave you love and devotion for free and ask little in return and don’t complain about often b-grade care, what do you want from these poor creatures exactly?).
So there you have it. Poor me in my nice snug house, having to go have a hot shower in my new bathroom to put on new clothes to drive to work in my new car to work in a bookshop. Life is, obviously hell for me. Boo-hoo.
